Who We Were
by Nytewing
Summary: When the Graysons fell their son went to his great-uncle to be trained as a Talon. Four years later he is rescued and taken to live at Wayne Manor. But, he is not the talkative boy he once was, in fact talking at all is a bit of a problem... A series of connected oneshots about how the Batfamily is formed when the older brother is not quite who he was meant to be.Entire family cast
1. When We Were

**A/N:** A series of One-shots in a universe where Dick was overtly trained as a Talon after his parent's death. Bruce saved him eventually but some damage was already done. There is a secondary author's note at the bottom of this chapter which is fairly important so read that please.

**Chapter Warnings**: prejudiced talk (no slurs though)

**Pairings:** None

**Disclaimer**: Man, if I owned them things would be so different. But, I don't.

Chapter 1: Where We Were

It was a pity. Such a pity. The boy was strange and silent. He was no good, obviously after poor Bruce's money. That was the only explanation, the members of high society whispe red behind their hands, heads ducked together, small titters escaping when they thought no one was listening.

"I heard he's deaf!" Maria Wolworth hissed. The others rolled their eyes. Maria was always so behind the times.

"Well, of course he's deaf, Maria!" Harriet Carver shot back across the small group. "Anyone with eyes can see that! No," she leaned in closer to the others, "The real question is whether or not he's, you know _slow_."

Excited looks passed across every face in the clutch of women. Had Bruce Wayne had taken in a slow lad? Why on Earth would he do that? He was normally so much fun.

Across the ball room Dick Grayson, newly made ward of Bruce Wayne, rolled his eyes at their words. He was most assuredly not deaf, nor was he slow. That rumor was completely ridiculous, anyone who took the time to ask their little children how he did in school would know that. The brats certainly showed their displeasure strongly enough when he scored higher on an exam than they did.

The only other child at the gathering leaned over close to him and whispered, "What are they saying now?"

He quirked a smile at her. The expression still felt strange on his face, but it had been nearly four months since…. Well, since a time he didn't like to think about. He didn't smile back then. He shook his head lightly to banish the memories. Live in the moment. That was what Bruce always told him. Live in the moment. He brought his left hand up and twisted it into a few complex signs.

_Nothing important. _The freckled red-head next to him scowled.

"Dick, I know better than that!" She protested, "They always say mean things about you! Daddy should make them stop. I bet he would if I told him to!" She made to set her drink down. Dick rolled his eyes.

_No Babs _he signed, _They will just be mean to him if he tries. I don't mind. _The ten year old gave him a skeptical look. _Really. _He promised. It was the truth. The words of a few stupid women could not bother him, not after everything he had seen and endured in his nine short years.

She frowned deeply at him. _I do not like. _Her signs were still clumsy, stilted where his flowed, heavy where his were light, and her grammar was atrocious. It frustrated her, but Dick was just happy she was trying to learn. Besides, Babs was so smart, she would look like a native signer in no time.

_Whatever. _This party was boring anyway. _Want to go work on the math for Wednesday?_

Barbra stared at him. Was the kid for real? It was Friday night and he wanted to work on their homework? He met her eyes, his own large and blue. The left one had a very small scar pulling on the corner, not noticeable until you were up close, but large enough to make her wonder what his life had been like before Bruce took him in. He never talked about it.

_Babs? _He ended her name with the raised eye brows of a question and she shook her head to clear it of thoughts.

"Yeah, I guess we can go do homework," She pushed at his shoulder lightly, "Nerd."

_You love me for it. _Then he was gone, skipping across the floor with a grace she could never hope to match. He flitted past Bruce, signing something she could not make out, and out the door on the far side of the room.

Babs walked up to Bruce far more sedately. He was so handsome, she had only just realized that a few weeks ago when he showed up at school to take Dick to a doctor's appointment. She tried valiantly to hide her blush when he smiled down at her.

"Dick says you two are going upstairs to do some math?"

She nodded quickly, "Yes sir." She looked around hopefully but her father was nowhere in sight. "I was hoping you could tell my dad?"

"Of course, I'll let the Captain know as soon as he comes out of the kitchen."

"The kitchen?"

Bruce's smile turned slightly conspiratorial. Barbra's blush deepened. "Ms. Wells has developed a small fondness for our boys in blue. I believe your father is hiding."

Babs was startled into a laugh. Bruce chuckled along with her. He had opened his mouth to say something else when a willowy woman floated up to him.

"Oh Brucie, darling, you must come see what poor Elsa has had done!"

Bruce cast a small wince at Babs before turning to the woman. As she escaped the horrid ball room, Barbra could hear the woman going on about a botched nose job. She shuddered. High society gave her the hives.

Dick's room was sparse, far less decorated than she expected the bedroom of a multi-billionaire's ward to be. He had moved all the furniture to a small space near the window, creating a crowded area surrounded by emptiness. The walls were bare save for a single, faded circus poster which hung by the window next to his bed. When she entered he waved happily from his spot in the window seat. She could see that on the way up he had stolen a tray full of food and drinks and their math books were already laid out in a small semicircle.

Babs smiled at him, "You are the weirdest kid I know, you know that right?"

_Yep. _The sign was quick and cheerful. Babs crossed the room and settled into the window seat across from him.

When Captain Gordon ventured from the kitchen and climbed the stairs at midnight to retrieve his daughter he found himself desperately wishing for a camera. The two children had fallen asleep working on their homework. Dick had slumped forward and was curled up in a loose ball against Barbra's side. His daughter had her head tilted against the boy's and her arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Do not worry," he jerked slightly when the elderly British man spoke, "I will have copies made for you." He held up a camera with a very small smile. Gordon sighed happily. Babs had not been this relaxed since her mother's death, it would be good to have the picture to remind himself that things would get better for the two of them.

"Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Not at all, Captain Gordon."

* * *

** A/N 2:** A Few notes on the use of Aphasia in this fic: Aphasia is often caused by some sort of traumatic injury to the brain and can lead to further illnesses and issues. For instance, epilepsy and strokes. This is a very serious condition and not one to take lightly, I hope to do the trials and tribulations of living with aphasia justice. However, I am not a doctor and I will likely take a few liberties with respect to this being a work of fiction in which the aphasia is only a part, not the focus. As an example of the liberties I will be taking; typically aphasia of the level of what I'm giving Dick also precludes use of signed language (as it is recognized as 'natural language' just as spoken languages are). However, since signed language is stored in both the action/vision and language sections of the brain it is reasonable to assume that he might have been more easily able to reacquire signs before speech. Obviously, this is fiction, but I am using my linguistics background to try and make it believable (hey, grad school is useful…. Crazy).


	2. How We Were (Part 1)

**A/N:** I'm really happy people are liking this story! This is an AU which has been nagging at me for quite a while and I needed to get it out there. It was partially inspired by The Quiet One by Keerea (which is an amazing fic that everyone needs to read) and partially inspired by a series of lectures about aphasic realization in one of my seminar courses.

**Reviews:** Thank you all so much for reviewing! There was a question about how old Dick is in chapter 1 from one reviewer; he's 9 in both the 1st and 2nd chapters, so the other bat boys/girls aren't around quite yet. Don't worry though, they will show up soon. These chapters are not typically going to be in chronological order. At the top of each chapter I will put the updated order of stories.

Also, if you have anything you would like to see, let me know! Ideas for chapters are always welcome.

**Warnings:** non-specific/graphic references to child abuse (the Court of Owls/Talons are not nice people)

**Pairings:** none

**Chapter Chronology**: How We Were (Ch 2), Where We Were (Ch 1)

* * *

Chapter 2: How We Were, Part 1  


Dick's first month at the Manor was… rough, to say the least. He was nine years old and had spent the last four years learning to be something both less and more than human. On good days he barely remembered his life before _there_. On bad days he could only remember pain and silence and killing. Flying helped and Bruce immediately installed a trapeze set for him. When he flew he could remember how his mother's voice had always been slightly raspy and how his father's eyes had danced with joy all the time. When his fingers caught the swinging bar he could remember the soft scrape of his mother's nails on his scalp when she ruffled his hair and the feel of his father's strong arms hugging him after a nightmare. He had one picture of them, but they looked like strangers, these people he only remembered as color and impressions, not faces. He mourned them still and often dreamed of their fall. But, it was a distant sort of sadness, one that he could easily ignore most of the time.

When he wasn't flying his head was filled with darkness, silence, and calculations. He instantly knew the best vantage points in a given room and easily placed himself in that position. He knew without thought how he could incapacitate (_kill_) every person he came in contact with. Bruce; a knife in the dark, the rich always died easy. The old man; a subtle poison, advanced age would be blamed. The Commissioner; a gun from a rooftop, a gift from one of his many enemies. The thoughts flowed unbidden through his mind. Mostly, he ignored them, so used to their presence that they had long ago ceased to be remarkable. _Mostly_, they didn't bother him, but, the very idea of killing Bruce was repugnant.

Dick spent his days in the Manor, forbidden from leaving the house, even to explore the ample grounds. He didn't mind that so much. His naturally dark skin tone had paled over the last four years of forced isolation and he knew he would sunburn if time was spent outdoors. Instead, he followed the old man around, worried about what he was doing when Dick couldn't see him. For a reason he could not determine he trusted Bruce. Perhaps it was the heavy callouses he could feel on the man's hands or the way he seemed to instinctively understand Dick's cobbled together sign language and responded in kind. But, the older man reminded Dick far too strongly of _him _and made the young acrobat intensely uncomfortable. He tried to alleviate the sensation by spending as much time around him as possible, hoping to inoculate himself to the sensation and situation.

So far, it wasn't working.

* * *

Alfred would never admit it out loud, but the young boy that Bruce had brought home from the circus scared him. Richard Grayson was raw. When Alfred looked at him he had to fight to see a child and not one of his compatriots from his time in war-torn areas. The boy moved too quickly, too efficiently. His eyes saw everything, breaking it down into its constituent parts and judging what he saw with ruthless accuracy. Alfred wasn't sure that he had ever seen the lad sleep and he ate like a bird at meal times. Three days after the boy's arrival every single box of cereal he bought vanished, so Alfred was at least not worried about Richard starving to death.

Bruce said he just needed time; that he would recover from the trauma he suffered given a stable home and safety net to fall back on. Alfred wanted to believe his employer, he truly did, but when he looked up while cleaning to see the boy perched like a hawk at hunt on the chandelier, serious gaze following his every move, or when he woke to see the slight shadow at his door silently watching him sleep, well he wasn't so sure Bruce was right this time.

* * *

Fifteen days after Dick's arrival at the house on the hill Bruce took him aside after breakfast. Once again Dick had only eaten maybe three bites of the exceedingly healthy meal prepared by the old man. He wondered if he was going to be punished for the lack of appetite. He would have been _before._ He was still waiting for the other shoe to fall and for Bruce to be like the only men he could readily remember.

"I have to leave for a little bit," Bruce spoke slowly and signed along with the words. Dick focused on his hands, committing the motions to memory. He was tired of not being able to express himself properly. The words of his youth trapped behind the terrible wall in his head, clamoring to escape and giving him a constant dull headache.

_Why? _He asked. Though he had only learned the word the previous evening the motion was sharp and confident. He needed only see a sign once and it was freed from behind the terrible wall. He liked to imagine it finally scaling the sheer bricks and leaping, screaming for joy from the parapets.

"I have been gone a lot over the last few weeks and the board needs to meet." Bruce did not look happy about the situation. "Alfred will be here if you need anything." He read the subtle displeasure of Dick's face, "I would not leave you alone with him if I did not trust him with my own life, Dick. He raised me and has always been loyal."

Dick tried out the final word on his hands. He wanted it to feel right and natural, wanted to be able to find it within himself. It was clumsy and wrong. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears left in his body.

Bruce reached out and clasped Dick's hands within his own. Dick finally met his understanding gaze.

"Give it time, chum."

Dick nodded. If anyone else had said that, had told him that he might one day be like other people, he would not have believed them. He would have snarled and cursed them in his garbled words, hurling the nonsense at them as the weapon it was meant to be. He might have even lashed out physically, if the mood struck. Once again, Bruce was different. Dick wanted to understand why; why did he trust this man above all others? He had no evidence to back up his gut feeling, it was just that, the sense of a connection to another soul in the way he liked to think he had once connected to his parents. It had been a long time since he thought of anyone as family.

_I will be good. _He forced his lips into a wry grin, one he knew would placate his guardian.

"That is all I ask," Bruce nodded, "It would also be nice if you actually ate a little something besides cereal. You are skin and bone, kiddo." The smile on his face was real and Dick slowly felt his own soften into something more genuine. It was not a true smile, he had not done that in years, but it was close enough.

Five hours passed, lunch came and went with Dick forcing down a few more bites of his sandwich than normal. It felt like concrete in his gut, but if it would make Bruce happy he was willing to suffer a little discomfort. In his attempt to be good Dick forwent his normal shadowing of the butler and instead spent his time flying. But, his worry over the older man's actions was a constant buzz at the back of his mind. Finally, he gave up on being good and went to find the man.

A short search later Dick stood in the doorway of the expansive kitchen. The old man stood by the state-of-the-art stove, staring out the window with a small scowl on his face.

A sharp, sustained shriek filled the room. Dick jumped and then cursed himself for the moment of weakness which revealed his position. The man pulled a tea kettle from the stove and the shrieking ceased. He turned to Dick and smiled, though it was a thin wavering thing. It made Dick feel slightly better to know the butler was equally uncomfortable.

"Good afternoon, young master, would you like to join me for tea?"

Dick considered, he did not truly think that the old man would try to poison him. At least, not when they were alone at the manor and it would be only too easy to discover what had occurred. The tea did smell amazing. The soft scent of oolong and ginger that filled the room as the butler poured the water over the dry leaves eased his soul in a way he could not have anticipated. Tea was important to his parents, he suddenly remembered. A brief flash of red fingernails against a chipped tea service and deep laughter and warm sunbeams assailed him and Dick swallowed tightly. He supposed it wouldn't be so terrible to share a single mug with the man. He would simply have to watch him very carefully. He padded across the floor and, keeping a stern eye on the older man, pinched some of the dry tea form the open tin next to the pot.

One deep sniff told him the tea was not poisoned. He nodded his acceptance of the invitation.

One cup of tea would not hurt.

The old man's brittle smile became warm.

"Then come along, lad," he gestured to the small table on the other side of the kitchen, "I fear I have been derelict in my duty."

Dick tilted his head to the side in question. The butler chortled.

"It is my job to care for the members of this household. I admit that I have been doing only the bare minimum where you are concerned." He looked upset and suddenly Dick remembered what Pop Haly had looked like, a face full of warmth and age and love. The butler- no, _Alfred_ (Bruce had said to call him _Alfred_), had that same look about him.

He opened him mouth and, without thinking, spoke to reassure the man.

* * *

"Kind no rot happy!"

Alfred jerked at the sudden noise. He dropped the delicate tea cup he had been holding and stared at the boy. The doctors had said-

But, before his train of thought could travel any further the boy looked between him and the broken mug with wide, terrified eyes and fled.

"No, Master Richard!" He called in vain. The child was already gone, vanished in the silent way Alfred as not sure even Bruce could manage. Muttering imprecations against his own clumsiness and paused just long enough to sweep up the shards and deposit them in the garbage before beginning a search of the Manor.

* * *

**A/N**: More about Dick's specific aphasia; Despite his silence in chapter one and throughout most of this chapter Dick CAN speak. Aphasia can take one of many forms depending on the severity and location of damage. Dick's specific form is called anomic aphasia with severe verbal paraphasia and mild agraphia. To translate that to normal English; words are mostly replaced by the incorrect word (which retains its part of speech). He has no problems understanding the speech of others and writing is difficult but not impossible for him. This is typically caused by damage to the temporal l


	3. How We Were (Part 2)

A/N: Shorter chapter today, I just wanted to wrap up last Thursday's chapter. Next chapter will skip ahead in time to when there are some Batsiblings around. As always, if there is something you want to see, tell me! Ideas are always awesome.

Warnings:  none

Order of Chapters: How We Were (Parts 1, Ch 2 & 2, Ch 3), When We Were (Ch 1)

How We Were: Part 2

Bruce entered his childhood home to silence. He frowned, normally, there were at least the soft sounds of Alfred going about his tasks. It could be nothing; Alfred could be out back tending the garden and Dick was far too silent to be heard no matter how close he was. But, something in Bruce rebelled against that idea. It was the same something that screamed at him to move when the thug behind him raised a gun or to stay still when the gunrunners patrol passed. He listened to it.

He tossed his jacket and briefcase into the closet just off the entryway and, after a brief moment of consideration, toed off his shoes. Silence and surprise were his allies in the case of a home invasion and he was not used to moving stealthily in dress shoes.

He quickly cleared the kitchen and other living areas downstairs. He knew before he entered each of them that they were empty. The manor was large and old. Bruce knew the sounds that every room made when occupied and empty. The gentle creaks of the wood and settling of the foundation were noises that had soothed him over the course of his life. Now, they were able to speed up his search for the other occupants of the home.

The search did not bear fruit until he climbed the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to the master bedroom. In a scene he would never forget, Alfred was on his hands and knees lifting the bed-skirt and peering into the blackness underneath. The surreal quality of the situation was further underlined when Alfred dropped the fabric and cursed loudly.

"Alfred?" Bruce could not help but question. He no longer thought the home had been invaded, but all was obviously not normal.

The butler spun to face his employer and surrogate son, "Oh, dear! I am so sorry, sir. I didn't realize that anyone else was here."

Despite his concern Bruce could not help but chuckle, "It's alright, Alfred. You just made thirteen-year-old me very happy."

If Alfred hadn't been so very British, Bruce was sure he would have blushed violently. As it was he simply sniffed disdainfully.

"What's going on?" Bruce gave in to his curiosity.

At this Alfred's shoulder slumped, "I'm afraid it is all my fault, sir. I invited the young master to have tea with me, hoping it would put him more at ease in my presence. Selfishly, I also hoped that it would help me feel more comfortable around the lad."

Bruce nodded, "That was a good idea. His parent's trailer had a lot of tea in it. I think it was pretty important to them."

Alfred nodded, "It was all going well. He agreed to join me and we were even having a discussion of sorts when – well when he spoke."

Bruce had to sit down.

"What?" he questioned softly. "The doctors said that he couldn't."

Alfred nodded, "I know. I was quite shocked myself. In fact, I dropped a teacup in my surprise. It scared him, or rather, I believe he thought I would punish him for the event. He fled."

"What did he say?" Bruce wanted to hear the boy's voice. He still remembered the bubbly child he had met all those years ago, the one who brightened any space he was in with his smile and his kind words. He wondered if the voice still sounded the same or if it had been darkened by pain and terror like everything else about Dick had.

Alfred looked pained, "I don't know, sir."

"How can you not know?"

"It was English, but not English; more of a random series of words than a sentence."

Bruce nodded almost absently, he was already running through all the possibilities of what exactly might be affecting Dick. Of course, in order to figure what was going on, he first needed to find the boy. He and Alfred decided to continue their searches throughout the manor. Alfred would continue on the second floor and Bruce climbed to the third.

The third floor was where the telescope and Wayne Family art collections were kept. It was rarely used except for during certain fundraising events. In fact, Bruce wasn't sure Dick had even been up to the third floor in the two weeks that he had been living at the manor. The silence in this area of the house was absolute. Bruce was sure that he would be able to hear any motion Dick made long before he saw the boy.

He was just beginning to despair ever finding the boy when the thought occurred to him. For all that the last four years had obviously changed him, this was still the little boy who had so joyfully flipped off the top of the candy cane truck to introduce himself to Bruce. Heights were a good thing in Dick's mind. With that idea in mind Bruce restarted his search looking up this time instead of down.

When he finally realized he was being too close-minded in his searching and that there was, in fact, a higher point in the manor that could be achieved if one was determined enough Bruce could have smacked himself. He found the closest window and opened it. The ascent to the roof was more arduous than he expected it to be; Wayne Manor was not lacking in foot and handholds but they were surprisingly slippery in the late afternoon fog that had fallen on the city.

"Dick?" Bruce called softly when he reached the summit. Her perched as steadily as he could on the slick tiles.

The boy's head popped over the peak of the roof, small face pinched with worry. When he saw that it was Bruce the tension eased almost imperceptibly. Without a sound, a skill Bruce still marveled at despite living with Dick for two weeks, he crested the roof and slid down the tiles to sit next to Bruce. It pained the older man that Dick still maintained a careful three feet between them, even in such cramped quarters as the roof.

_Is he mad? _The small hands flashed his question even as their owner refused to meet Bruce's gaze. _I swear I didn't mean to scare him._

Bruce reached out and stilled Dick's hands, enveloping them in one of his own.

"He's not mad, kiddo." Finally the blue eyes raised to meet his own. Before Dick could ask again Bruce smiled, "I promise. I would never lie to you unless I absolutely had to. You know that right?" Dick nodded. "Good. Then trust me here; Alfred is not mad at you. He's worried because you disappeared on him and a little upset that you were so scared, but not at you."

Dick seemed to be considering that information so Bruce asked him the question he really wanted an answer to, hoping if he were distracted Dick might be more willing to answer.

"Chum? Alfred said you talked?"

Dick's eyes widened and he pulled his hands free of Bruce's hold.

_I know I'm not allowed to. I know I'm broken but it just – _here he slapped one palm down on the roof and mimed slipping off, _I swear I didn't mean to. _

"You are not broken!" Bruce said. He was pleased when his sharp tone did not cause the boy to shrink away from him. In fact, a very small twitch of his lips told Bruce that the declaration was well received.

"But, Dick, I need you to try and talk for me so I can help you."

Dick stared at him for few, very long, seconds before nodding sharply.

"I dance," he whispered. At first Brue couldn't even comprehend the actual words that slipped from the boy's lips. He was so caught up on the slight rasp of vocal chords unused to being used and the naturally melodious cadence present in even two words. The voice was everything he expected from his memory of the boy four years ago, everything and more. Bruce suddenly felt very close to tears. He pulled Dick close to his side, for once not dancing around the lad's distaste for touching. Thankfully, Dick seemed to want the comfort just as much as Bruce wanted to give it and he tucked himself up against Bruce's ribcage.

After a few moments of marveling at hearing the boy he was beginning to think of as his son speak for the first time Bruce contemplated the actual words. 'I' was obvious and transparent, but why say 'dance'? It made no sense given the context.

"Dickie?" He murmured, "Why did you say 'I dance'?"

Dick shrugged, his shoulders jamming into Bruce's side as he did so. He extracted his arms from their position wrapped around his torso.

_That's what always happens, _he signed, _I know what I want to say but when I try and talk… _He fell still. Bruce glanced down to see silent tears coursing down the boy's face. He felt something deep within him break a little more.

_He didn't like me talking. He said I was stupid and that stupid people shouldn't talk, _Dick continued after a few moments of silence and stillness.

"That is not true," Bruce grabbed onto what he could respond to, "You are not stupid; you are brilliant." Dick looked at him skeptically. "I'm not kidding. Something happened and you lost the ability to speak, and I do want to know what that was but you don't have to tell me yet. Most people would give up then, but you didn't. You found a way to communicate and it's damn clever-Don't tell Alfred I said that."

"Damn," Dick parroted with the first real smile Bruce had ever seen from him. Bruce could not find it in himself to be mad.

"Yeah, that," Bruce poked Dick's shoulder lightly, "Alfred does not like cussing. He won't hurt you, I promise, but he will give you a look that makes you feel lower than the smallest ant."

Dick giggled.

"Anyway," Bruce continued, "You invented signs, very good ones I might add, and have been learning ASL faster than I thought possible. You are overcoming something that would break most people."

"Know you," Dick whispered. Thank you, his hands elaborated.

Bruce smiled and kissed the top of the boy's head, "Dickie, I've only really known you for two weeks and I am already so proud of everything you are. Now, come one, let's get off the roof before you freeze solid."

* * *

A/N: Most forms of communicative aphasia allow for the person afflicted to 'copy back' things they hear within a certain time period (typically only immediately after hearing it, i.e. before it is converted from extreme short term memory to longer short term memory). That is what Dick was doing when he copied Bruce's 'damn'.

Once again, if you have anything you would like to see, tell me! Ideas are awesome...


	4. Question Words

**A/N:** Bit of a time jump with this one, in fact an eleven year time jump. So, Dick is 21, Jason is 18, Tim is 15, and Damian is 10 (no one knows how old Bruce is anymore but I'm gonna say 38 here).

**Reviews: **Once again, you guys are awesome/amazing/insert-complimentary-adjective-here! Seriously, I so happy that people are enjoying the product of my end-of-semester stress relief. On that note, thank you to the reviewers who made suggestions about what they would like to see. I am taking the one about Dick's first week at school and that should be posted sometime in the next few updates (depending on how it goes, I've never actually written a school scene before).

**A/N2**: I don't want people to be confused here; this is the same Dick from the first three chapters. He still has all the issues and history as before, but he's also had 11 more years to heal and deal with everything. So, he is going to look pretty different than the last three chapters, but don't worry you'll still see his progression in later chapters.

**IMPORTANT A/N:** After Dick's speech in this chapter is translated in (). Normally I'm not going to be doing this, but since this is from Damian's POV and he doesn't understand Dick's sign language there need to be translations for the reader.

**Chapter Order:** How We Were (Ch 2 and 3), When We Were (Ch 1), Question Words (Ch 4)

**Warnings:** prejudiced talk (Damian is a little shit)

* * *

Chapter 4: Question Words

When Damian Al Ghul, soon to be Wayne, meet Dick Grayson for the first time he was decidedly _not_ impressed. The man was shorter than his father by a good five inches and everything about him screamed 'ne'er-do-well'. His hair was far too unkempt, sweeping about his head in the breeze, his grin was too loose and his eyes were too bright. He looked incredibly wrong and incredibly right standing at Batman's side and Damian hated it. Who was this _Nightwing_ to stand where he himself should? Damian privately thought, and not so privately declared, that he could not believe his father was associating with such trash. He might have thrown in a few choice phrases about Grayson's heritage and upbringing. It was then that he got his first glimpse that something might be not as it seemed. Something had glinted in Grayson's eyes and was reflected in his father's, something feral and dangerous. Damian felt a flash of fear that was gone before he could properly analyze it. He elected not to continue speaking on the subject, at least for the moment.

His opinion did not change when he learned that Grayson could not even speak properly. He called Damian 'Pup' and when he spoke it was all a tangled mess. His hands were constantly flashing about along with the words. Damian wished the other man would just be _still _for one minute, but that seemed to be impossible. He was constantly moving, pacing back and forth as he ranted incoherently. Occasionally he would pause and peer at Damian, the same something the young Wayne could not recognize from their first meeting flashing though his eyes. It would freeze Damian in his tracks, caught in the crystal blue gaze, until Grayson looked away and Damian was allowed to continue whatever he was doing.

Worst of all, it seemed his father perfectly understood the garbled mess of his first ward's speech. Grayson would chatter and flash his hands and Father would watch attentively and then respond in kind, though his words were precise and logical. It was infuriating to say the least…

It was not until Drake showed up for the first time that Damian thought that there might be more to Grayson than a simpleton his father had taken in and trained to fight crime.

"Pral!" Grayson had all but shouted. He scampered (scampered! What adult male did that?!) from the top of the stairs where he had been standing, down the long banister before flipping off the end and landing before Drake. He paused, looking the younger teen up and down, before gathering him up in his arms in a tight hug. Damian scoffed at the display of physical affection. When he finally released the other boy Grayson grabbed his hand and led him over to where Damian stood.

"Pral, this breathes Pup. He breathes cat Kham." He gestured a few times and for the first time Damian realized that he was using a sign language. It was not one that Damian was familiar with, despite having a basic knowledge of ASL, Signed English, and Arabic Sign Language. He frowned deeply as Drake flashed two quick hand symbols at Grayson. Obviously Father, Grayson, and Drake all knew the language. Perhaps it was invented to communicate as Batman and his partners? More investigation would be required…. (Tim, this is Damian. He is Bruce's son.)

Drake finally turned his full attention to Damian, "Hi, I'm Tim. Dick says you're called 'Pup'?"

Damian glared at the two of them. Drake was grinning and Dick was rolling his eyes with a groan.

"Madly?" Dick asked with raised eyebrows. (Really?)

Drake laughed, "Yep, at least it's cute. You're lucky kid, you should hear what Clark got saddled with-"

"I do not have time for this inane prattle." Damian hissed. If they weren't going to bother to show him the proper respect, or even to call him by the correct name, then he was not going to waste any more time on them than he already had. He stalked away. Grayson had already begun chattering again as he left.

Later that same evening Damian found himself in the library. This time of year the fireplace was always roaring and it was one of the few rooms in the manor where Damian felt like he could actually be warm. He missed the heat of the desert, the way it curled around his bones and lulled him into relaxation, even in the dangerous halls of Ra's al Ghul. But, when he pushed the chair close and held a book written in his native tongue, he felt almost like the manor could maybe be his home one day.

He had been reading for nearly an hour when the door creaked open. He resisted the urge to crane his head around the edge of the chair to see who had entered. He didn't recognize the steps; too heavy to be Grayson who always walked like he was trying to take flight, not precise enough to be Pennyworth, nor strong enough to be his father whose steps were as strong as he was. Damian rolled his eyes, of course Drake would choose to bother him.

"I request that you take your leave immediately," he tried, knowing it would be in vain. If Drake was anything like the other residents of Wayne Manor he would be unbearably stubborn.

"Not happening," Drake's voice was terse and Damian shut his book. "We need to talk."

"What in the world might you and I have to discuss?"

Drake settled into the chair opposite Damian. He immediately pulled off his jacket in the face of the heat from the flames.

"What are you reading?" Damian huffed out an annoyed breath.

"Why are you here?"

Drake sighed heavily, "Fine, to business then." He eyed Damian carefully, "Has anyone explained to you exactly what's going on with Dick?"

"I assumed he was a simpleton."

That drew a quiet snarl from Drake and Damian suddenly found himself more invested in the conversation. For all that he had very little respect for Drake as a person, he respected his father's choices. If Batman said that Tim Drake was a worthy successor to the late Jason Todd then Damian supposed he trusted that choice. It was not a situation that would be allowed to continue for very long. Damian was clearly the superior partner, his father only needed the time to see that and Damian would supplant Drake.

"You will NOT say anything of that nature in front of him," Drake managed through gritted teeth, "Dick has survived more than you could ever comprehend. He deals with talk like that every damn time we have to go out in public and he doesn't need to hear it at home too."

"What's wrong with him?" Damian could not help his curiosity. It had gotten him in trouble many times back when he lived in the compound.

"Nothing," Drake snapped. He sighed and continued more calmly, "Look this really isn't my business to be telling you, but you obviously aren't going to learn how to understand him without knowing… He has very severe aphasia, mostly affecting his spoken language."

"Aphasia," Damian tried the word out, unwilling to admit that he did not know what it meant in English.

"It means that his brain can't find the right words. What he says makes perfect sense to him and he always uses the same wrong words. So, if you've spend enough time around him you learn some of the words. If you want, I have all kinds of research on his exact sort."

Damian nodded. He supposed a medical condition was a legitimate reason to be so inept when communicating. Without thinking he asked, "What the hell are his hands doing? It is not a standard language."

The terse smile Drake shot at him told Damian that he had been far too obvious in his interest. He scowled.

"He was injured when he was still with Them," Damian's scowl deepened. He did not know who 'them' was supposed to be. "They didn't care. They didn't want him to talk anyway, but Dick knew that something was wrong. So he made signs up for himself. He knows ASL and Signed English and uses those in public but when he's home he uses his signs and ASL together."

Damian suddenly felt very small and very petty, though he did not want Drake to know it.

"I will-," he paused, considering his next words, "attempt to be kinder to Grayson on the matter of his speech."

The smile Drake shot at him was radiant. "That's all we ask, kiddo."

Damian nodded, "Now, please, leave me. I wish to read in silence."

Drake left without another word.

Damian did not read any more that evening. Instead he stared into the fire and wondered when everything became so complicated. He was just supposed to go to Gotham and take his place at his father's side. Now, he was struggling with sudden feelings of not-scorn for the various members of his father's family. It was, discomforting, to say the least.

* * *

**A/N**: It is not typical for people to sign as they speak. Since both are natural language and ASL and English have vastly different grammatical structures it is incredibly difficult to process them at the same time. This is why ASL-English interpreters have to go through so much training. They are translating two pretty much unrelated languages in real time and it requires a helluva lot of processing power/practice. Dick is able to do this because he typically doesn't think about what he is saying verbally (he knows pretty much no one can understand him anyway) so most of his processing is going to the signing not the speech.


	5. What We Say (Part 1)

**Reviews**: I'm so happy you all think everyone is in character and are liking the developments! There was a question about the Titans (or at least Wally and Roy) showing up; as of right now I don't have an idea for a chapter with them, but I love those morons and there will very likely be a chapter later (Dick and team dynamics are going to be a very interesting area of exploration). This chapter and the next are based off a reviewer request to see Dick + "Learning environment". The school isn't actually until the next chapter, but this is the set-up.

**Warnings**: Discussion of past child abuse (nothing graphic), language, mentions of the Holocaust (and the racial prejudice therein)

**Chapter Order:** How We Were (Ch 2 and 3), What We Say (Ch 5), When We Were (Ch 1), Question Words (Ch 4)

* * *

What We Say, Part 1

Dick wanted to go to school, he really did. He vaguely remembered afternoons spent in the warm sun outside his family's trailer, sitting on the ground and repeating names and dates of important historical events back to his mother. He could not see her face, but he could feel the glow of her smile and the buzz of excitement at a right answer. He could recall all of his times tables and the time they went to a library and she showed him how to use a computer. He remembered one day, a cloudy one where the sky threatened rain and the breeze felt cold, when his mother had cried and explained to him that not everyone saw their people as they were, that some hated them for who they are and that he should always be on watch for those people. She explained about a dark time when they were rounded up and killed and showed him pictures of his cousins and grandparents who had lost their lives. It was frustrating to him that he could still see the gentle wrinkles on his grandmother's face, could still remember the love his grandfather's eyes, but could not recall his mother's eye color without looking at a picture.

He had been living to Bruce for nearly three months and the demons were starting to shrink. There were still just as many as when Batman first swooped down from the rafters, but they were smaller, they had less talons than before. Every day he looked and everyday he was pleased to see their diminished power. He had even found a place for Alfred in his new world. Once they began spending time together the butler no longer reminded Dick of _him _and he was free to form unbiased opinions. Of course, Dick was not anywhere near okay; he still had nightmares that made him unable to sleep longer than a few hours at a stretch, he still flinched when anyone moved to quickly, and he still hadn't been able to speak a coherent sentence. He was grateful that Bruce didn't seem to care that he was broken, damaged beyond all repair. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Bruce had realized his mistake and sent him away. Bruce's understanding and gentle tutoring (so unlike what he could recall of his mother's more rambunctious style) had given Dick more words than he ever hoped for, even if they were only on his hands.

Dick thought he could manage his issues and problems. He wanted to learn again and neither Bruce nor Alfred had the time to be his teacher. He wouldn't really want them to put themselves out like that anyway, they had already done so much for him, more than he would ever expect anyone to do for someone like him. So, when the beginning of August rolled around he pulled Bruce aside.

_Bruce? _

Dick had spent an entire night after a nightmare trying to find the perfect sign for Bruce. It needed to be something strong and fearless, something that captured Batman, while still being the kind of gentle, understanding man Dick had begun to care for. Eventually, he decided on a quick motion that began with his right hand held open by his left shoulder and dropped to the center of his chest in the symbol which meant _home_ in Dick's personal sign. It was a sign that he had always wanted to use in the light of day, one that rolled up all the hope for freedom and remembrance of happiness he was too scared to really believe in into a hand shape. Bruce thought it was a random shape and Dick wanted it to remain that way. He did not think Bruce would use the knowledge of how much Dick was growing to care for him against him, but it was difficult not to feel laid bare by the emotion.

"Yes?" Bruce pulled off his jacket and handed it to Alfred. Dick glanced warily at the older man. He reached up and grasped the edge of Bruce's dress shirt sleeve. He might not actively fear Alfred anymore, but it was still prudent to use caution. He saw Bruce lift a questioning eyebrow at Alfred but neither man commented on Dick's actions.

"I'll just hang this up, sir." Bruce nodded his assent and followed Dick out of the cavernous entryway. Dick hated that room; it reminded him of the aeries the Talons took their rest in. Tall, empty rooms with lights that swayed and the deceptively soft click of deadly claws. Dick viciously shoved those thoughts from his head.

"What's up, chum?" Bruce crouched to Dick's level as he spoke, "I thought we were done being scared of Alfred?"

Dick nodded. He wasn't really scared of Alfred anymore. Sure, the older man still gave him a small shiver when he appeared in a room that Dick had previously thought was empty. But if anything, that gave him motivation to continue his own practice. So, no, he wasn't really scared; he just didn't trust the man yet.

"Good. Now, what's going on?"

Dick steeled himself for disappointment. He was sure that Bruce was not going to grant his request. He could tell how even going out to dinner made the man twitchy.

_I want to go to school. _There, he had laid it out and now Bruce just had to respond. Dick ducked his head, waiting for the disapproval. A few long moments passed and he found himself being made to look up by a crooked finger under his chin. Bruce's expression was a mix of emotions Dick could not remember ever feeling. Something that looked like pride warred with fear and more than a little apprehension.

"I'll need to think about it," was all Bruce said. Dick nodded, that was not the immediate 'no' he was expecting, there was still hope that his request would be granted. "Now, I know you're probably tired of doctors, but I'd like you to see one more if that would be okay with you?"

Dick really wanted to say that no, it was not okay. He was so tired of being poked and prodded and having people in white coats marvel at his 'muscle tone' and 'extensive scarring' and 'oh my god what happened to this poor boy.' He had lifted his hands to protest when Bruce reached out and stilled them.

"Her name is Leslie," he explained softly, "She knows about the basement."

'The basement' was what Bruce called the cave that served as his base of operations for his work as Batman. Dick thought it was a little silly. He had checked for listening devices his first night in the old house (there weren't any). But, if it made Bruce feel better then Dick supposed it was okay. After all, he did a few illogical things when he was feeling unsafe (he still perched atop the column at the corner of his bed when nightmares woke him). Dick knew that Bruce was really saying that he trusted Leslie like he trusted Alfred. It was mildly reassuring, though not enough to make Dick comfortable with yet another doctor.

Bruce seemed to sense that as easily as he sensed everything else about Dick. He smiled gently at the boy and Dick felt that strange new desire to make his guardian happy rise in his chest.

"Okay," he whispered once and then drew in a deep breath and repeated louder, "Okay. Okay, I'll do it."

Bruce nodded, "I'm glad. She said she could see you this afternoon if you agreed. She'll come here and we can even do the exam in the cave."

Dick could not help the thrill of excitement at that. He was not allowed in the cave unless Alfred or Bruce was there to supervise him. They said it was because of all the 'dangerous' weapons that he might accidentally hurt himself with. Dick did not have the heart to tell them that he had been given his first set of throwing knives when he was five and used them for the first time on an opponent when he was six.

Leslie arrived a mere half an hour later and Dick had the strong suspicion that he had only been asked as a formality and that she was already on her way. Gotham proper was nearly forty-five minutes away if one used the normal roads and followed the speed limits. He found he didn't really mind the assumption and stubbornly kicked the paranoia-demon in the shins, forcing it back onto its increasingly rickety perch in his mind.

Dick and Bruce were waiting for her in the cave. Dick took the opportunity to use his trapeze and to show off to Bruce. It was nice to be acknowledged for one's skills. He thought he must have loved the circus, the mere idea of hundreds of people all cheering him on the way Bruce did was intoxicating. When he heard the elevator begin to descend from the upper levels he pulled shifted his weight from a position which allowed continued aerial work to a dismount prep. He landed with a nearly silent thud from thirty feet up. The crouched position would never have won any awards, but it was so ingrained in him over the last four years as the best way to silently land and sneak up on one's target that he was not sure he would ever be able to break the habit.

Clapping reached his ears and Dick shot to his feet, falling into a fighting stance unconsciously.

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare him," the woman standing next to Alfred worried, "I'm sorry, Bruce."

Dick scowled, he hated it when people spoke about him as if he weren't there.

_ I can understand her just fine, she doesn't need to apologize._

Bruce chuckled, "He says it's fine, Leslie. No need to apologize."

The doctor at least had the good graces to blush and Dick forced himself to forget the unintended slight. She was obviously a good friend of Bruce's and Dick did not want to alienate a potentially useful ally so early.

"Well," Leslie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "Shall we begin? Bruce tells me that you haven't had a fun time the last few times you visited the doctor."

Dick wasn't sure if she wanted a response but in an effort to make up for his less than welcoming demeanor signed to Bruce who translated for Leslie; _They treated me like, like a – What's the word for mouse and scientist? We saw one on the TV last night. _

"Lab rat," Bruce carefully formed the letters to spell the words as he said them and then made the ASL signs. Dick nodded his understanding and continued.

_Yeah, they treated me like a lab rat. I did not like when they took my blood and when they called me a monster._

"What!?" Bruce interrupted his own translation at that, "You are NOT a monster, Dick."

Dick shrugged, he didn't like it and it hurt to hear out loud, but he mostly knew it was true. Monsters were the things that came in the night and killed people; the things that took them from their beds and their families. That pretty well described him before Batman had found him. It was okay though, Bruce had given him the chance to not be that anymore.

"I see," Leslie spoke before Bruce could take the discussion further. Dick mentally thanked her for that. "Well, I promise not to be like those other doctors. You just tell Bruce if I'm doing anything you don't like and I will stop unless it is medically necessary. Can you agree to that?"

Dick glanced to Bruce just long enough to once again confirm that he was okay with the woman before nodding.

"Good," she smiled at him, "Then, let's begin."


	6. The Stories We Tell

**A/N:** This story takes place about three months after this universes version of Battle for the Cowl. That means that Bruce is dead. In this verse Jason became Batman after BftC (that will be coming up in a few chapters, don't worry!). Dick is still Nightwing, Tim is Robin, and Damian is called Phoenix (that will be explained in another chapter as well).

**A/N 2:** I thought you guys could use a bit of a lighter tale (or at least I needed to write one after a fairly hellish week). This isn't all happy but it is overall a cheerful story, I think….

**Warnings**: Drug use, neglect of minors, allusions to child abuse (nothing graphic), language

**Chapter Order:** How We Were (Ch 2 and 3), What We Say (Ch 5), When We Were (Ch 1), Question Words (Ch 4), The Stories We Tell (CH 6)

* * *

Chapter 6: The Stories We Tell

Movie night was something of an institution the Wayne household. It began when Dick was eight and the words on his hands were still stilted and feeble. Leslie suggested that it might be a good idea to help Dick readjust to the world at large by slowly introducing him to popular culture. The first movie they sat down and watched was a hit. Dick was soon singing the songs, the melody intact and the words mangled; Bruce thought it might have been the most beautiful song he had ever heard.

Each Saturday night a new movie was introduced and soon they had worked their way through the classic children's movies and into the lists Bruce found online of 'must watch movies'. Dick particularly enjoyed the Bond films, though his comments about how much more efficiently Bond couldDamia eliminate his targets alarmed Bruce, and Alfred was a fan of the quieter, thoughtful pieces that really explored human nature. Those movies always ended with Dick pressed as close to Bruce's side as he could get, his eyes wide and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Bruce and Alfred agreed that it was good for Dick to see those sorts of films, but they did limit them to once a month. Bruce had no real preferences, mostly he watched Dick's face for signs of distress anyway.

When Jason joined their little family Dick gave up one of his movie choice weekends for Jason and suddenly animal documentaries joined the roster. The only ones that Bruce forbade were the movie about birds of prey. They tried one the third week after Jason came to stay and Dick's ensuing panic attack at the first screech was something none of them ever wanted to experience again.

Tim and Cass joined them a year after Jason and immediately Alfred was making a rotating calendar of who would get to choose each week's movie. Cass tended towards the sorts of films Dick enjoyed, though she liked the more independent companies' works more than he, while Tim liked bright, happy pieces about people finding love and raising families. Dick always held Tim close on those nights. Even if Tim never said anything his yearning for a 'real' family was painfully obvious to them all.

Damian refused to participate, though he did sit in the room on movie nights and read.

The movies they watched had a lot to do with what was happening in their night lives. When things were dark Tim seemed to have more choices come up than the others. When they need to be reminded of what exactly they fought for it was Alfred (and he always choose Disney on those nights).

When Jason died they watched dry documentaries about molecules for two months.

When Bruce died, they skipped three weekends.

Finally, Tim and Cass approached Dick and Jason with a stack of DVDs and plaintive looks.

"We just, we want-" Tim was at a loss for how to say what they wanted. Cass lay her hand on his shoulder.

"We wish to watch a movie."

Jason snorted, "Go for it kiddos, no one's stopping you." Dick nodded along with Jason's words.

But, Tim shook his head and Cass lifted her chin.

"No. We wish to watch a movie as a family."

That was that. Neither Dick nor Jason had ever been able to refuse Cassandra something when she asked for it.

So it was that, fourteen years after Dick first stepped in the manor, the family gathered in the private living room. Dick sat at one end of the large, plush couch with his feet tucked under his body and a pillow hugged to his chest. He had taken a hard blow to the ribs on the previous night's patrol and the slight pressure felt good. Tim ensconced himself next to Dick, one leg lightly brushing up against Dick's side. He had claimed the remote as soon as he entered the room and no one was willing to argue with the teen who had only just begun to look them in the eyes again. Cass pressed herself tight against Tim's other side. She twined the fingers of her left hand through his right and snuggled into a large quilt with a soft smile. Damian and Jason each claimed one of the arm chairs. Damian had a deep scowl on his face at being forced to participate in what he deemed an "unnecessary waste of his precious time" and was pointedly ignoring the others. Jason found himself attempting to hide the large smile that wanted to creep across his face.

Of course, Dick was never one to let a hidden smile stay that way. He flipped his right hand in a general interrogative. Jason's hesitation melted away.

"I was just thinking." Dick rolled his eyes, obviously wanting more elaboration.

"I wasn't aware you could think," Damian snipped.

"Cute, kiddo," Jason shot back, "Your mommy teach you that one?"

"Come over here and say that! When my father returns and deposes you from his rightful place then you-"

_Come on guys! _Dick interrupted, _You know we don't fight on movie night!_

Jason suddenly laughed. Bruce had told him that on the first movie night he spent in the manor, back when he was an angry street kid of nine years and Dick was twelve. He was delighted to realize that the memory of Bruce was not the knife in his gut that thoughts of the man normally were.

"Has Dick ever told you how we met?" he suddenly felt like sharing with the younger ones. Nowadays it felt odd to remember that there were two whole years where it was just Dick and Jason in the manor. Dick shot him a fond look and he knew he had made the right decision. The last three months had been so hard on them all, perhaps a story would make things seem a little better.

Tim perked up at the idea of a story. Jason rolled his eyes; Time was such a little fanboy, even after all this time.

"No," he hurried to say, "All either of you would ever say was that Jason's mom brought you together."

Jason and Dick nodded.

"Athena ran sunburnt," Dick whispered reverently. He stretched one leg out to rest on Jason's knee. Jason rested his left arm on Dick's shin.

"Yeah, she was." Jason rubbed at his eyes, this was supposed to be a happy story dammit!

"Athena?" Cass had scooted even closer to Tim and even Damian looked reluctantly intrigued.

Dick blushed. Jason chuckled.

"Yeah, our little Romeo here had a crush on my mom," He mock glared at Dick, "which, by the way, was totally not cool. That was my _mom._"

Dick shrugged, "She ran sunburnt," as he spoke his free hand signed _and so scary smart. _

Jason's smile became a little more tender. "Yeah," he directed his attention to the others, "My mom was amazing. Her name was Sheila, though obviously Dickie-bird here called her Athena. She was his interpreter and speech therapist at Gotham Academy."

Tim nodded, "So that's where you met."

Jason laughed outright at that, "As if," he snorted, "There's no way a single mom on an interpreter's salary could afford to send her kid there. No, it's a bit more complicated than that"

Dick pulled both hands free and began to explain.

* * *

Dick is twelve when he starts worrying about Ms. Haywood. She's always been so kind to him, even when he doesn't think he deserves it. She gives him small candies when he shows her a new sign and understands most of the gnarled sentences he mutters when he is too exhausted from a late patrol the previous night to even sign. It's amazing to have someone besides Bruce and Alfred who understands him in that way. Barbara and Ms. Haywood are the only other ones and Barbara is… well, Dick isn't really sure what she is. A year ago he could have said that she was his best friend. Now, while he can still easily say that, he finds that the sign for friend no longer feels quite right when he uses it in relation to her. He wants to say more but has no way of articulating the emotion to Bruce (the only one he would trust with such a confusing feeling).

His school days are all the same. He arrives and goes to homeroom where he meets up with Ms. Haywood. She asks him how his night was and how his morning is going and he always says they were and are fine. She doesn't know about his night-life and he thinks it is nice to have a friend who doesn't. Technically Barbara doesn't know either, but Dick thinks that she is far too clever to not have it figured out by now. After all, her dad has so many files on Nightwing and a blurry picture of Batman was released last fall.

After homeroom he has math and it is still so easy that he mostly ignores it and talks with Ms. Haywood. They have the freedom to talk about whatever they want because sign is silent and Mr. Yu, the calculus professor doesn't care if Dick pays attention or not so long as his grades don't slip and he keeps the mathlete team in good standing for State.

Ms. Haywood tells Dick about her young son and his adventures on Gotham. She says his name is Jason and that he takes karate lessons. He's just reached brown belt and she is so proud. Strangely, Dick is too. He's been hearing about young Jason for almost four years. Even if they've never met face to face Dick feels as if he knows the other boy.

Sometimes their conversations are not so pleasant. Dick once asked where Jason's father was and Ms. Haywood had nearly started to cry. Peter Todd, she finally explained, was a very bad man, one he should not worry about and that she did not want to talk about. Later that day Dick looked Peter up in the database and decided that she was right. Peter was in jail on multiple counts of domestic abuse and armed robbery. Dick placed an alarm on the file. If Peter Todd was ever released from Jail, Nightwing would be the first to know about it. No one hurt his friends.

It was his conversations with Ms. Haywood about her son that would eventually change both the boy's lives forever. Dick was curious about the child he had learned so much about so, one night when Nightwing was patrolling separately from Batman, he swung by the Haywood home.

Dick loved watching the two of them together. They were so happy and easy in one another's company. It simultaneously made his heart ache with envy and desire and fill with happiness for them. Ms. Haywood would scoop little Jason up in her arms and spin him around, laughing all the while. Jason would sneak up behind his mom and grab her in a tight surprise hug. They cooked dinner together and when Jason had a nightmare he climbed into his mother's bed. She kissed his forehead and loved him so very fiercely that Dick could see it from his perch across the street. It was amazing to watch.

* * *

"Ha, it appears Drake is not the only stalker in the family!"

The others very carefully did not acknowledge that Damian had just referred to them as a family. In fact, the boy had moved from his chair to the foot stool in front of Jason's chair while Dick was telling the story. Dick stuck his tongue out at the assassin.

"Not a glorper."

"Okay, that last one wasn't even a real word," Jason informed him. Dick shrugged.

_Eh, who even knows how my head works these days. _He smirked, _but apparently g-l-o-r-p-e-r means stalkers in Dickish. _

"Riiight,"Jason rolled his eyes, "Anyway, so this creeper was stalking my mom. Like, I said before, he had a massive crush on her. Even Bruce knew about it."

Dick gasped, _He did not! _

"Ha! You admit it!"

Tim and Cass were laughing so hard at this point that they had to lean even more heavily on one another for support. Even Damian had cracked a genuine smile. Dick and Jason exchanged a look of triumph. Their plan was working.

"Anyway!" Jason continued over the sound of laughter, "Nightwing was stalking my mom. It actually turned out to be a good thing." Suddenly it occurred to Jason that this might not be the best story to be telling. One glance at Dick told him that the same thought had just occurred to his older brother. Dick's foot nudged Jason's leg and he raised one eyebrow. Did Jason think this was a good idea? He could only shrug in response. They all knew that subtle emotions really weren't Dick's thing. He typically left all that up to Jason to take care of and focused on protecting their physical bodies instead. Bodies he understood, emotions were just confusing.

Jason decided to censor the ending of the story.

"Dickie didn't know it but my mom had starting running with her old crowd. These guys from before I was born, real tough types. Matches Malone would feel right at home."

Dick snorted. The others did not react, they sensed that the tale was about to change.

"We were falling behind on our bills. I had even started running drugs for one of her buddies to help with money, well, that and stealing tires to sell," Jason could not help the smirk when he thought of his younger self's confidence that he would never be caught.

Dick took over the narration.

_One night when I was watching I saw that Jason was alone. Children should never be alone. _

He paused and Tim scooted closer. Dick shot him a tender look remembering the way that they had met. A child alone in the woods and in the rest of his life and the boy who was missing his guardian.

The others exchanged fond looks. They were all well aware of Dick's need to protect his flock and penchant for rescuing lonely strays.

_Anyway_, Dick continued, _I worried about Sheila. Back then I wasn't really good with people and -_

Jason snorted, "You were fucking terrible, bro. I swear to Bat you _hissed_ at me once." Dick kicked him with his free leg.

_Okay, I was terrible with people. But, not with Sheila. She was like Bruce and I was good with her. When she didn't show up after a while I snuck in. _

Damian could picture it. Dick was an absolute ghost when he wanted to be, his training with the Talons ensured that. Jason would never have known Nightwing was in his apartment.

"I was in the living room, umm, trying to avoid, I mean-" Jason trailed off. Tim felt tendrils of alarm snake through him. He had no idea when they started talking that _this _was the story that they were going to hear.

"Jay?" he whispered, "Are you okay?"

Jason snorted and shook his head, "No. Look, I wasn't thinking when we started this. It's not really the story you guys need to hear."

Dick nodded his agreement. _Next time, _he signed.

"Please finish," Cass whispered suddenly, "Want to know."

Jason clasped his hands tightly and averted his eyes from the others. He could not deny that request, "My mom had OD'd," he muttered, "She was in the room Nightwing snuck into. He sorta freaked out when he found her."

_Understatement. _Dick had to fingerspell that word, _I really freaked out. I had a flashback to my parent's and might have kidnapped Jason and taken him back to the cave._

"I was fucking terrified but I had heard of Nightwing but all I could think about was how much I wanted my mom so I didn't really fight him. Bruce took me in that night and got the paperwork started the next day."

That was it, that was all either of them was willing to reveal to the others. Dick smiled at them all but his eyes were flinty and the smile was fragile and sharp as cut glass. The dangerous feeling he sometimes got on patrol rolled off him in waves. Damian quickly snatched up a worn copy of Fantasia. They all needed the innocence of classic music and old animation.

Dick and Jason exchanged rueful looks over the heads of the others as the orchestra started playing. They really needed Bruce to come back from the dead. This parenting thing was so much harder than either of them was expecting. They could barely hold each other together, much less the other three. It felt like they were fighting a losing battle against the darkness of Gotham and in their own hearts.

Jason almost wished they had told the others the final part of the story, the part that explained how fiercely Nightwing was willing to protect Jason, even from the very first time they met. Dick's eyes softened and Jason knew he was thinking of the end of that terrible night as well.

* * *

Nightwing was smaller than Jason expected him to be. Everyone had heard of the wraith who made Batman look soft and fuzzy in comparison; the shadow that danced through the night on the breezes too light to carry more than a fear and a whisper. Jason, who believed in Batman and Nightwing despite what the news and the police said, had pictured an older man with scars on his face and fire in his eyes. What he got was a little boy who was so much more dangerous than anything Jason had ever imagined.

"Molt!" The costumed hero snarled at him, flinging one hand back in an obvious command to remain in his place. Jason tucked himself deeper into the light covers on the hospital bed. They were in a cave, that was all Jason knew. The spandex clad fury had burst into the living room where Jason was hiding from his still, silent mother and grabbed him in an inescapable hold. He was shoved into a car and then across the damp expanse of the underground structure, all without a single word being spoken by his captor.

Suddenly there was a series of powerful thuds on the door.

"Nightwing?" The deep voice echoed through the barricade Nightwing had been erecting ever since he shoved Jason into the small room. Jason felt shivers start running through his body. He wanted to go home.

"Homing Pigeon!" Nightwing called back. He had crooked his hands into sharp hooks. Each finger was tipped with a deadly looking claw, they glinted in the dim light of the room.

"What? Nightwing what is going-" the fingers flexed almost imperceptibly and Jason wondered if he was about to see Nightwing fight.

"Homing. Pigeon." The words were growled out in a voice that Jason was sure he would have nightmares about if he survived all this.

"Quadruple Summersault. Now, let me in. Are you hurt?"

Jason watched at Nightwing visibly deflated at the words. He glanced at Jason before nodding sharply and yanking on a single strap dangling from the rather precarious pile of items. To Jason's amazement the pile split in two and the door was revealed between two collapsed piles. It slid open immediately.

Jason yanked the covers back over his head.

Batman. Batman stood in front of him. Batman stood in front of him and Jason was delivering drugs and stealing tires. Oh God, he was so screwed.

Jason really wanted his mother.

But, batman did not appear to care that Jason was a fledgling criminal. He immediately grasped Nightwing's shoulders and glanced over his body before pulling him into a tight hug.

"Don't do that to me, chum."

Nightwing pulled away. His hands were jerking in complicated patterns that Jason only half recognized from his ASL lessons with his mother. With a frown he tried to translate;

Talons…. Sheila….dead…I can't…..please.

Oh, they were talking about his mother. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A gentle touch on his chin brought him out of his dark thoughts.

"Nightwing says you're Sheila Haywood's son?" batman's face was softer than Jason could ever have imagined it being. He nodded, too afraid to speak.

"She was a good woman." Jason nodded again. Without warning Batman reached up and pulled down his cowl. Jason gaped. Bruce Wayne sat before him covered in grime and sweat and skin tight leather.

"Would you like to stay with me until we can contact your other family?"

Jason shook his head, "Don't got any other family."

Nightwing, now with his mask removed and his eyes revealed, reached forward and yanked on Bruce's sleeve sharply.

"Dick wants you to stay with us for good," Batm- Bruce smiled at him and Jason realized he like the man. It was strange.

"I understand if you don't want to, you've only just-"

"No!" Jason all but shouted. He blushed violently but forced himself to continue, "I mean, I don't have anyone and Nightwing was just trying to protect me, right?" The other boy nodded with a radiant smile, Jason found himself returning the expression despite the hollowness in his chest, "I son't want to go back there if my mom isn't going to be there."

Bruce rested one hand on his shoulder, "Okay. Welcome to the family Jason."

It was only later that Jason would realize that he had never introduced himself.

* * *

Later that night, when all is said and done and Dick and Bruce had removed their costume in favor of comfortable pajamas, Jason overheard something he was sure he was never supposed to hear.

"You can't do what you did today, chum." A few beats of silence, "No, no, taking Jason was good. That was the right thing to do. We can protect him from anything that's out there." More silence then a heavy sigh, "You can't go off comms like that. I was terrified when I got to the rendezvous and you and the car were gone."

Jason peeked around the door of the room he had been given. Bruce and Dick stood out in the hallway.

"I know you can take care of yourself, hell you're probably more competent than me at some things," Dick made two quick motions that Jason recognized;

_Most things. _

Bruce's smirk was present in his voice when he spoke again, "Agree to disagree. No matter what you need to stay in contact. I worry about you, son."

Dick looked strange and half upset and Jason quickly retreated back to the huge bedroom he had been gifted. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so bad about staying here.

* * *

Hours later Alfred would enter the movie room to see his charges curled around one another on the largest couch, all fast asleep save the eldest who watched over them with the sharp eyes of the birds for which he took his name.

Alfred left them without a word. Sometimes Dick needed to watch his brood for a night without interference.

Alfred would simple ensure that there were plenty of pancakes come breakfast time.

* * *

A/N: No facts this time, I just wanted to get this posted. I'll make up for it with Friday's post (the 2nd half of What We Say)


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